"It's been a long time since I was last here, Lydia. Your painting skills have improved greatly."
Vilgefortz strolled leisurely down the long corridor of the gallery, his gaze moving from one painting to the next.
"Yes… the difference is visible even to the naked eye. The way you've handled the ripples of the Lixela River here — far more refined than the turbulent Pontar River in your earlier work…"
"The cliff lines on both sides are sharper, clearer…"
"Lydia, your talent in painting far surpasses your gifts in magic — even elemental magic."
Lydia van Bredevoort walked quietly behind Vilgefortz, her hands resting gently before her abdomen.
Her white dress flowed like soft clouds, brushing lightly across the marble floor.
"Vilge, only you would flatter me like that," she said with a faint shake of her head.
"I'm merely speaking the truth." Vilgefortz didn't look back. His steps halted before a newly finished landscape painting.
In the painting stood a gray castle among towering mountains, hawks circling in the sky while wisps of mist drifted through the valleys.
"Don't mind Acolyf's words," Vilgefortz said after a moment. "He's simply too old — so stubborn that he refuses to tolerate anything that doesn't fit within his own ideas of art."
Acolyf had once been Temeria's royal painter, the founder of the Acolyf School of Oil Painting, renowned for portraits and depictions of historical events.
He believed that only through the solemnity of history and the gravity of the human figure could painting achieve true artistic elevation.
To put it plainly, he thought every painting's soul lay in its people.
Landscapes could exist — but only as a backdrop, as metaphor.
"A pure landscape," he said, "lacks the emotion, ideals, love, and hatred of humanity. It is pale and hollow, unworthy of being called a painting."
It was, in truth, a harsh critique of Lydia van Bredevoort's work.
"He mistakes the reflection on the lake for the stars in the sky," Vilgefortz said with a faint smile, turning his head toward her. "Painting is painting. Portraits are painting. Landscapes are painting. A thousand years ago, during the First Landing, landscape art was the dominant form."
"Not everyone must live under the shadow of great names. With how quickly you've progressed, it won't be long before you rise above them all…"
Lydia smiled serenely and shook her head, graceful and calm.
It was unclear whether she was denying his words or simply expressing indifference toward Acolyf's judgment.
At that moment, one of the candles nearby burned down to the wick, flickered, and went out.
Lydia stepped forward, reaching gracefully into the air. From the void, she drew forth an identical white candle, lowered the wicker lantern, and replaced it — lighting it anew.
Both she and Vilgefortz could easily afford magical lamps that would never extinguish as long as a magic crystal powered them.
But Lydia preferred this — the simple, ancient light of a candle.
And ancient it was indeed.
Candle-making could be traced back to the First Landing — perhaps even before that — a craft brought from humanity's homeland beyond the Conjunction of the Spheres.
It was one of the few techniques not learned from the Elder Races, a craft unique to humankind.
The hill folk, perhaps, had once known the art of candle-making — but by the time humans descended upon this world, they had already abandoned it, relying solely on magical illumination.
During the First Landing, handmade human candles were prized artisan goods among the hill folk. Of course, that was the ancient hill folk — not the ones of today.
The modern hill folks, it was said, now preferred torches and pine-resin lamps for their light.
Vilgefortz watched silently as Lydia van Bredevoort — her arms pale and slender as carved ivory — replaced the candle with calm precision, his thoughts growing tangled and deep.
The candlelight flickered.
A pleasant scent of incense spread through the air as the flame caught, warm and fragrant.
Lydia van Bredevoort put away the used candlestick, then turned her gaze toward the end of the corridor.
The witcher had not yet emerged from the basement.
She hesitated for a few seconds before glancing at Vilgefortz and speaking softly.
"Vilgefortz, it's clear that he doesn't trust us."
"Is it really necessary to betray Ban Ard and Rissberg Group for someone who doesn't even trust us?"
"It's not betraying Ban Ard," Vilgefortz shook his head. "It's only betraying Sunny, Ortolan, and Rissberg Group. Once Hen Gedymdeith returns, Ban Ard will always — and only — belong to the legend among sorcerers."
"But…" Lydia van Bredevoort started to speak, but stopped.
Vilgefortz smiled faintly and pressed, "But what?"
Lydia hesitated, then glanced again toward the direction of the basement, lowering her voice.
"The witchers have never been part of the stage of the world."
"To do all this for a witcher — even if he's the Child of Miracles — this is…"
"This is madness!"
"Vilgefortz, you are a Source, the most gifted mage in the world. Hen Gedymdeith is your future."
"It shouldn't be you bending to a witcher. It should be all witchers, all men, all mages, kneeling at your feet."
"You are the future of humankind!"
Lydia's tone carried a hint of indignation.
But Vilgefortz simply smiled and ran his fingers through her smooth hair.
"That future is far too distant. I don't have your patience, Lydia — I won't let some decrepit fool keep wagging his finger at me forever."
"The Child of Miracles is the best shortcut."
"And precisely because it's mad enough… Lydia, that's why the ones standing at his side right now — are us."
Before his words finished, Vilgefortz's voice faltered. He and Lydia van Bredevoort turned their heads at the same time.
Tap—tap—tap—
Rapid footsteps echoed toward them. Moments later, a witcher in leather armor with a longsword hanging at his waist stepped through the doorway.
"Allen, are you ready?"
Vilgefortz moved forward to greet him, though his pace unconsciously slowed.
Allen noticed the odd expression on Vilgefortz's face and asked coldly, "What is it?"
Vilgefortz's eyes flickered with uncertainty.
"You… you seem different somehow…"
Twenty minutes ago, Allen still looked like a noble knight bewitched by chivalric tales — a runaway young lord playing at adventure.
But now, the witcher standing before them radiated a completely different aura — as if he had just walked out of a wilderness ruled by beasts, dripping with feral savagery and killing intent.
Vilgefortz could even faintly feel the oppressive presence unique to powerful monsters.
That violent aura seemed to take shape — a massive, fanged maw lunging straight toward him.
And then, in a blink, all the visions vanished.
"Mm, I just made a few more preparations," Allen said, glancing around and deliberately changing the subject. "So, how do we get into Ban Ard? A portal?"
Vilgefortz looked at him deeply but didn't press.
"A week ago, after I returned from Kaer Morhen, Ban Ard was surrounded by Giambattista's spatial confinement ritual," Vilgefortz explained as he walked toward the exit of the gallery. "No portals can enter or leave."
"I only managed to teleport here after stepping outside the academy."
Allen frowned as he followed. "No portals? Then how are we supposed to sneak into Ban Ard?"
At that, Vilgefortz exchanged a meaningful glance with Lydia van Bredevoort, then smiled faintly.
"We'll walk in through the front gate."
"Mm, through the front—" Allen nodded absentmindedly, then froze.
"Wait, through the front gate?!"
-----------------------------------
"He's Linai Wolfgang, from Temeria," Vilgefortz said calmly. "The son of a noble friend of mine. Recently awakened magical talent, and I agreed to take him as my apprentice."
"Fourteen? A bit late for awakening as a sorcerer, but he's lucky indeed — to have a Source, and one as gifted as Lord Vilgefortz himself, as a mentor. With such a teacher, talent hardly matters anymore."
"Hahaha, you flatter me. I still have much to learn myself. My friend likely values Ban Ard's teaching more than anything, so he sent the boy here."
"Then he truly is fortunate. Joining Ban Ard now — for a young male mage — is a once-in-decades opportunity. Well then, Lord Vilgefortz, registration is complete. I won't delay you any further. You may go inside."
"Thank you."
They stepped past Ban Ard's heavily guarded main gate, through a thick blue magical barrier that shimmered like a curtain of water.
And just like that, Allen — a witcher — had set foot on the land of the Wolf School's ancient enemy: Ban Ard, the Academy of Male Mages.
"So we really came in through the front gate…"
Allen subconsciously pressed his boot into the solid ground, staring at the forest of towers ahead — the City of a Thousand Spires. It all felt strangely unreal.
Behind him, six mages and over a dozen sword-bearing guards stood at the crowded academy entrance, solemnly inspecting every newcomer.
So that's the benefit of having an inside man, huh?
Gotta love it…
Without moving his lips, Vilgefortz's voice sounded in Allen's mind.
"Even without us, you could have found a way in. Sunny's security looks tight, but it wouldn't stop anyone truly determined…"
"Why not?" Allen asked, curiosity piqued.
Vilgefortz tilted his head toward the rear. "Take a closer look — you'll see soon enough."
Allen followed his gaze, and within seconds, he noticed the anomaly.
Aside from the paths used by mages dressed like Vilgefortz, who were questioned briefly by other mages as they passed, the remaining gates were… odd.
Several of the mages stationed there were clearly daydreaming, their eyes vacant.
A few men in silk robes — clearly merchants — approached, handed over a purse of coins to the sword-wielding guards, and walked straight in without so much as a word exchanged.
The mages barely glanced their way before lapsing back into their trance, lost in thought.
"Because of the war with the hill folk, Sunny has tightened security," Vilgefortz explained. "On paper, Ban Ard should be impregnable — a newly built outer city for defense, magical wards to repel attacks, Giambattista's spatial confinement ritual, and both mage and swordmaster guards at the gates…"
"Ban Ard Academy should be a fortress beyond breach."
"But…" Allen interjected smoothly, completing the thought for him.
Vilgefortz blinked, then chuckled. "Yes, but… the academy is also the heart of the new Ban Ard City. Land sales, caravan permits, trials, dispute settlements, high-value trades — all of the lord's administrative affairs take place inside the academy."
"The guards at the gate may look strict, but in truth, they're about as useful as grotesque gargoyles carved above a tomb entrance — there for intimidation, not protection."
"Not quite…" Lydia van Bredevoort's voice cut in — rare for her.
Both men turned to look at her. She raised her slender, pale index finger and pointed toward one guard who was proudly taking a bribe from a merchant.
"Gargoyles don't collect entry fees."
Vilgefortz burst into laughter. "Hah! You're right — that's quite the distinction."
Allen shook his head wordlessly, unimpressed by Lydia's dry humor — though, admittedly, it lightened the mood between them.
After a few more casual exchanges, they reached a small grove away from prying eyes. Allen glanced around cautiously before bringing the topic back on track.
"Where's Sunny hiding Hen Gedymdeith? Do you have a map?"
Vilgefortz didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his head toward Lydia van Bredevoort. "Lydia — keep watch over the academy's movements for us."
"…You two, be careful," she said softly. After casting Vilgefortz a worried look, she nodded slightly to Allen and departed.
Before her silhouette even faded from view, Vilgefortz lifted his head, gauging direction.
"Let's move."
Allen instinctively followed for a few steps before realizing something.
"You're coming with me? To rescue Hen Gedymdeith?"
Vilgefortz stopped and turned. His face — ruggedly handsome with a trace of stubble — curved into a knowing smile.
"Of course," he replied naturally. "Unless there's another sorcerer here? Don't tell me Philippa Eilhart followed you in?"
Allen hesitated. "But…"
Vilgefortz cut him off. "The path to rescuing Hen Gedymdeith is riddled with traps — and with magical constructs made by Sunny and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization."
"You need a sorcerer, Allen. One experienced, and skilled in both traps and magical mechanisms."
"And besides…"
He paused, then raised a finger, tapping it lightly against his temple with a grin.
"No magical map could ever be clearer than the one up here."
......
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